


A Spiraling Christmas Eve

by ribbitribbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Comedy, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Holidays, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Season 1 Shenanigans, The Spiral Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbitribbit/pseuds/ribbitribbit
Summary: Jonathan Sims doesn’t want anything for Christmas, especially not from anyone at the archives, but his coworkers have different plans. And apparently, so does Michael.
Relationships: Michael Shelley/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	A Spiraling Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Molly, who introduced me to The Magnus Archives and watched me get emotionally attached to the knife-hand door-man.

Sasha had been pestering Jon about this all week, at first in tiny ways. When they were both in the break room she asked him about it but he only shrugged. When they were walking down the hallway to the archives, she asked again, but when he shrugged again. She asked if he would consider it. He said he would think about it. It came as no surprise when she finally confronted him with Tim and Martin by her side, coming into his office like some kind of holiday spirit intervention. “We are having a holiday office party,” Sasha raised an eyebrow at Jon, “right?” 

“Well, I didn’t really think you were serious about it before. I- Do you _really_ want to have a party here of all places?” Everyone was looking at him. Sasha with her hands on her hips, Martin fumbling with his hands in front of himself, and Tim watching with a box of candy canes in his hands. They all had one thing in common with the looks they gave him—disappointment.

Sasha scoffed, “It’s a work party. Where else would we have it?”

“Jon, are we doing this or not?” Tim moved the box of candy from one hand to the other.

“We can have a holiday party. Just- just don’t overdo it. I have the feeling Elias doesn’t appreciate tacky Christmas decorations around the archives.” Jon paused as he glanced at his coworkers. Martin looked paler than usual, even for his standards. Scrutinizing him, Jon realized that Martin had flecks of gold tinsel on his sweater and hands. “Martin, don’t tell me…”

“I swear I brought good decorations! They’re not tacky! …Besides, I already put most of them up. I was going to tell you but you were in the middle of a statement.” 

“A dramatic one, too,” Tim laughed.

“Well, since the decorations are already up...” Martin self consciously tried to brush off the glitter on his sweater. Jon sighed. He didn’t want to be in charge of this, “Sasha, you pick the date and time and we’ll have the party.”

“Christmas Eve, five o’clock.”

“Wouldn’t you rather want to spend Christmas Eve with family or friends??”

“Well, Elias said we only had Christmas and the following weekend off, so we might as well have a party the day before. I don’t think he actually expects us to work on Christmas Eve, anyways.”

“Alright. A Christmas Eve party it is.”

❄❄❄

After a week, Jon had everyone’s gifts picked out. It wasn’t much, but he thought he did a decent job at getting his coworkers things they might enjoy. Sasha always kept high-quality pens at her desk, so Jon bought her a fine-point set. Tim insisted that he wanted new sunglasses—it seemed a bit off season but Jon wasn’t going to fight him about it—so he wrapped those up with glasses’ cleaner. And without asking, Jon knew to get Martin a variety set of teabags. By the end, all of them were wrapped in red paper. Maybe Jon wasn't the best at wrapping all of the gifts, but they were wrapped fine enough that he didn't think anyone would make fun of it for the next two months. Not that that exact scenario had happened before. No, not at all.

But in the weeks before the party, everyone asked Jon what he wanted. Some more bluntly, some more subtly, but every time without fail Jon insisted he didn't want anything. He didn’t need anything, except maybe a bit of peace and quiet from the chaos of the institute. Which was impossible, at any rate. With a deep breath, Jon straightened the stack of unruly papers in front of him, and started to record.

“Statement of-” there was a knock at the door. “Oh, come in.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not really. Just about to read a statement. What do you need?”

“...Are you really sure there’s nothing you want? Everyone has _something_ they want. Maybe a new mug? Or a sweater?”

“Martin, I’m fine. Christmas is about giving anyways, not getting something in return.”

“Yes, but I _want_ to get you something. Please. I’ll feel like a bad person if I don’t. And Sasha and Tim said you told them you didn’t want anything either. And I’m sure they also want to get you a present.”

“Martin. I’m fine.”

“...Okay. If you say so.”

The door clicked shut and Jon sighed, giving his tape recorder a look, like it could sympathize with his plight of refusing Christmas gifts. 

“Statement of Richard Long, regarding an encounter with a …strangely shaped knife.”

Even if they were exhausting to record, at least the statements weren’t insisting on getting him anything for his party.

❄❄❄

“Ho ho ho, bitches!” Sasha grinned widely when she came into the room. “Sorry for being late, I got stuck looking into some sources.” Her attire was festive as ever, complete with a gaudy Christmas sweater, and a Santa hat. She set down a bag of chips on the table, admiring the tree, “Ooh, look at all those presents.” 

Tim set out sodas next to Martin’s store-bought cookies on the breakroom table, nodding without looking, “There’s a few big ones, too. I think someone’s trying to make us feel bad for not spending that much on our gifts.” 

At that, Jon realized he hadn’t really looked at the tree that closely. When he came into the break room he focused on getting out the plates and cups he brought, not even giving it a second glance. He supposed it didn’t cross his mind because he had arrived earlier than everyone else and hadn’t seen the other presents. 

“Oh, wow,” Jon saw what presents Tim was referring to—or rather one very large present. It wasn’t under the tree so much as it was leaning _next to_ the tree. The rectangular, blue and white box reminded Jon of a flat screen TV. Which would be strange and much too expensive for a work party. Besides, it was much too long, at least six feet tall. Under the tree were some larger boxes too, but they were all rather normal looking comparatively.

Sasha clasped her hands loudly in front of her, “Alright, let's get this thing started.” She walked past Jon to the tree and dug out the gifts, making distinct piles. Martin and Sasha each had a stack of three gifts, and Tim had four, presumably one of the gifts was from himself and to himself. And finally Sasha pulled out a small envelope and placed it atop of the six-and-a-half-foot tall gift. 

“Martin first, he’s the youngest.” Sasha smiled and watched as Martin grabbed his gifts, setting them onto the table and unwrapping them slowly almost as if to appreciate the wrap-job as much as what was inside. Teabags from Jon, a sweater from Sasha, and a bag of chocolates from Tim. He seemed happy about all of them, but especially the sweater. 

“Oh this color is amazing,” he gushed. Tim rolled his eyes and grabbed his own presents.

“Alright, lets see what this is,” Tim grinned, ripping into the first present. It was a pair of sunglasses, from Jon. He quickly opened the next. Sunglasses, from Sasha. Then sunglasses, from Martin. Jon couldn't hold his laugh in, and Sasha was quick to join in, wheezing. 

“Did you actually ask _everyone_ for sunglasses?”

“I didn’t think everyone would actually get them for me!”

Jon was too wrapped up in wiping the tears from his eyes to notice Tim opening the gift he had bought for himself. But the sound it made sounded a lot like a pair of sunglasses being folded up.

Sasha’s turn was next—even though she was older than Jon she insisted he was lying about his age, because “just look at the bags under your eyes! And your hair!”—and Jon didn’t bother arguing. She unwrapped her presents quickly and threw the wrapping in the bin by the door as soon as it was off. New pens from Jon that she said were a great brand, a winter hat from Tim, and a cute cat mug from Martin. 

“This is so adorable,” she held the mug up, examining it closer. She grinned as she traced over the cat design with her thumb. “Thank you so much.”

And finally it was Jon’s turn, with his weirdly shaped gift and the card on top. Sasha had to grab the card for him. 

“Meowy Christmas,” he read the front of it with a smile, looking over the tacky card with a photo of a kitten in a gift box. Despite all his insistence that he didn’t want anything, because he really didn’t, it felt nice to have this. It was something personal. Opening it, he continued, “Dear Jon, We know you didn’t want anything, but it just didn’t feel right not to include you. So here’s this gift card from all of us. Merry Xmas! Martin, Sasha, and Tim.” It was a giftcard to a sushi place just down the road. Jon couldn’t help his smile. 

“Thank you,” he put the card onto the table. Sasha eyed the huge present behind him.

“You’ve still got one more gift left, Jon.”

“Oh, right, yes-” Jon furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at it. Everyone already got him that gift card. But he supposed maybe someone was feeling rather generous. Or wanted to prank him. He had seen those viral videos of people getting christmas gifts shaped completely odd only for most of it to be cardboard. “I’m guessing this is a gift card, huh?” He looked over to Tim, who just shrugged with a grin.

“Come on, just open it, I’m dying to see what's inside,” Tim egged him on and Jon started to unwrap the gift ungracefully right from the middle. 

Strips of wrapping fell away from the gift as if the wrapping paper was never really paper at all, but more like an outer skin that sloughed off at the slightest touch. All at one the shape made sense, and Jon’s hand was resting on a _doorknob._

“Oh,” was all Jon could say before the door was opened from the other side, and a hand reached forward, tugging him in by the wrist. When the hand let go of him, Jon tumbled onto a carpeted floor. Creaking loudly, the sound of the door closing reverberated around, accompanied by a distinct, piercing radio static. Scrambling up, Jon tried to face the figure looming over him before wavering, almost losing his balance as the world felt like it was tipping over, spinning on its side. He managed to regain his footing with a struggle. “Michael?!”

That headache of a laugh came from what was loosely considered Michael—he was hard to look at, all fractals and spirals barely contained in a human-like form. Michael stretched over him, grinning widely.

“Hellooooo Archivist,” he stepped back and gestured widely with his arms, “I thought I would stop by for a visit, but you decided to visit me instead. It was very sweet of you, actually. A nice holiday surprise for me.” 

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You were the one that opened the door. You tell me.” Jon was sure the door swung open from Michael’s side and he was sure he had felt that hand pulling him inside, but before he could even think to answer the rhetorical question, Michael spoke again. “I decorated these halls for Christmas, by the way. And you didn’t even say anything,” Michael frowned, “It’s as if you don’t appreciate art when it’s right in front of you.”

Looking around, Jon saw that the halls were certainly more festive than usual… Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling at odd angles and the walls were white with red and green lights painted onto them. Even the doors were adorned with wreaths. Mistletoe hung in the doorways at regular intervals. Jon was sure that in all the statements he had read through, he had never heard of entities like the Distortion celebrating anything as human as Christmas. 

“It’s… um,” Jon stumbled over his words as Michael looked at him expectantly, “beautiful. You did a good job with the decorations.” With a start, Jon lost his footing again as the floor twisted underneath him. He needed to get out of this, not try to keep up small talk with _him._ “Did you bring me here to kill me or are we going somewhere, Michael?”

“Kill you?” A stormy expression took over Michael’s face, spiraling, multi-colored irises turning a darker shade. “I’m offended that you think so lowly of me. I’m not going to kill you, Archivist. _Jon._ I’m going to celebrate the holidays with you.”

Michael reached a hand towards Jon, his attitude shifting back to cheerful rather quickly. “Come on, off the floor now. Despite my immaculate decorating skills, I admit these hallways are a bit stifling, so I’ll take you somewhere you can enjoy yourself more thoroughly.” 

With nothing else to do, Jon took a deep breath, taking Michael’s hand into his own. Despite how sharp it was only moment’s before, the hand in Jon's own seemed to be at least _shaped_ human. An active effort not to hurt him, he supposed. And so, holding an off-puttingly cold, leathery hand, Jon let Michael guide him to the door at the end of the hallway. A cheeky mistletoe hung at the top of its door frame, but Michael paid it no mind as he ushered Jon through, as if he didn’t think anything significant of the plant other than the fact that it was a festive decoration.

“Go on.” Michael didn’t have patience for Jon’s pause at the decor. With reluctance, Jon crossed the threshold only to be greeted with… a house. A cozy oak wood furnished house, with a fireplace roaring and large armchairs in front. Festive stockings hung on the mantel and a big, ornamented Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, boasting a pile of gifts underneath. Everything was bathed in a warm tinge from the lights and the fire. If Jon wasn’t standing inside of it, he would have pinned the place as being out of a children’s book, one of those cutesy ones you read to kids before they go to bed. More surprising than its existence was Michael’s knowledge of it—an entity like the Spiral, all neon bright laughter and gaudy attire, didn’t strike Jon as an appreciator of this kind of homely aesthetic. Jon waited for Michael to come out of the door behind him but when he turned around it had vanished.

“Michael?”

His voice came muffled from another room.“I am coming, Archivist. Be patient, it’s been a while since I’ve celebrated something like this.” Following the sound of Michael’s voice, Jon approached a well-furnished kitchen. He had a glance in but was cut off from the room as a door slammed into his face—a door he was sure hadn’t been there before. Michael coughed into his hand behind Jon, effectively dragging his attention away from the sealed-off room. Looking at him now, he looked different. _Human._ And he was holding two mugs haphazardly in his right hand, apparently not fearing a spill in the slightest.

“It is a shame you are so curious. This house barely exists. I would suggest not looking into any other rooms.” Michael grinned, walking to the two chairs in front of the fireplace and taking a seat at the left-most. He held out a mug towards Jon as he approached the chair at the right. Jon eyed the mug much to Michael’s irritation. “Again, it’s not my intention to kill you. This is hot chocolate, not poison.”

“If you say so,” Jon took the hot mug and took his seat. Though it should be cozy, he found it discomforting how soft the cushions on the seat were, how warm the fireplace was, how perfect everything seemed to be. And yet… yet most of this house did not exist, apparently. He leaned forward, “When you say this house barely exists, what do you mean?”

“I mean what I said, Archivist,” Michael laughed as if it was a joke. Yet his laugh sounded different here, sounded more like a breathy chuckle and less of a staticy migraine. “This is A Place That Does Not Exist, and it only Does Not Exist in this particular season.”

“Ah… that is interesting.”

“Isn’t it? I thought this would be the perfect place to cozy up by the fire with a nice hot drink.”

At that, Jon paused. “Why are you doing this?”

It was so strange, so out of character, for the Distortion to take Jon out of his work party and throw him into one of the most comfortable liminal places there was. Even stranger was the invitation to sit by the fire, to enjoy hot chocolate, to see Michael so very human-looking. 

“I don’t know,” Michael paused, looking into the swirling hot chocolate in his hands. His blue eyes seemed so much more stable than usual, no shifting colors or spinning fractals. He hadn’t taken even a sip of the drink he was so eager to enjoy. Jon was starting to think he couldn't even if he wanted to. Too inhuman for that, even if he looked normal now. After a moment’s pause, after a moment of tapping his nails against the glass, he gave an answer. “This holiday was special to Michael Shelley.”

“He was Christian?” 

Michael pulled a face. 

“He celebrated Christmas, didn’t he?”

Michael nodded. “Michael didn’t have a religion, but he did appreciate holidays that brought people closer together. He did not have a lot of friends at the archives, so any excuse to get closer to his coworkers was appreciated.” 

“I think that’s why a lot of people like the holiday,” Jon gave his mug another glance before deciding to take a sip of it, “It’s a good time for getting closer to people.” Michael just nodded again but didn’t say anything. He simply looked at Jon. Stared at him. As if he was waiting for Jon to say more, to elaborate on a point he didn’t need to elaborate on. Or, more accurately, it was as if he wanted Jon to keep asking questions until he asked the right one.

“Earlier… You called me Jon. Not just Archivist. _Why?_ ” Unsure himself as to why he put so much emphasis on that last word, Jon looked at Michael. He couldn’t will the words out of people, but he was certainly trying to.

“Your friends call you Jon.”

Jon’s mouth moved before his brain thought about how horrible that was to say in this kind of place, in this kind of situation, with this kind of entity, “We’re not friends.”

“No, I suppose we are not.” Michael smiled in a way that almost looked sad. His blond hair cascaded over his facade as he looked at his mug. Methodically, slowly, quietly, he swished the hot chocolate in his hands. “But I think this holiday would be a good time to amend that. We can be friends, Jon. For the night, anyways.”

Despite knowing this wouldn’t last, despite everything the Spiral did and did not do, Jon found himself agreeing. “I think that perhaps we could.”

Michael smiled, looking up from the drink in his hand. His face was so… normal. So human. Even his cheeks and the tip of his nose were tinged red, as if he had faced the cold recently—like he could feel it, like he could warm himself by the fire, like he could relate to every bodily experience someone that owned a proper body could feel. Maybe he did. Temporarily, Michael was human. If Jon felt cheesy, he could say it was a Christmas miracle.

“That's reassuring. I was concerned about- Oh, it’s absurd” Michael laughed, pushing his hair away from his face, “I was concerned about spending the holiday alone. Jon, I could go anywhere. See anyone. All I would have to do is open my door in a crowded bar or much-too-large family gathering. And yet I was worried about being alone. My solution was to take you here with me.”

Michael shifted in his seat, putting his mug on the coffee table between their chairs. He looked at Jon. Really looked at him. And grinned. “You have intrigued me, Jon. And I thought, out of all the people I know, you would be the best to bring here. You would be the one who could spend time with me and not be _too_ afraid. You could celebrate with me.”

“We haven’t celebrated much,” Jon took another drink of the hot chocolate. Confusion took over Michael’s face—a furrowed eyebrow and a scrunched nose—and Jon thought of the irony of it. The Spiral, the Distortion, the throat of Delusion, the Twisting, the It Is Not What It Is, was confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Christmas is more than sitting by a fireplace with hot chocolate.”

“I’m… not sure what you mean?” He gave a nervous laugh.

Jon glanced over to that large tree in the corner, its ornaments shining with a twinkle that wasn’t quite right given the lighting of the room. There were at least fifteen boxes underneath it. “We could open presents.”

“Even _I_ have never opened presents from this place. But if you’re going to risk your life unwrapping one, I’m not going to stop you.” When Jon got up from his chair—he wasn’t going to open any presents, just look at them in their state of Existing While Not Existing—Michael’s eyes followed him in an amused way. And Jon was sure he was still sitting but when he bent down to inspect the presents, Michael was right beside him, shuffling through the packages despite his discouragement of opening them.

“They’re labeled,” Jon didn’t know how he had come to that conclusion after seeing two packages with symbols on them. Sure, they weren't words, not exactly names, but they were marked. A web, a coffin, a cloud. All of the symbols seemed odd together but they had a purpose.

“You’re right.” Michael sounded shocked, holding a bright green box. His fingers brushed over the label tentatively. A mark of an open eye, stylized to be quite simple looking. Michael looked from the box to Jon and gently placed the gift into his hands. “I believe this one is for you.” 

“I don’t see how-”

“The eye. While I don’t think it’s _exactly_ yours, it’s close enough. You are the Archivist after all.”

“Oh, then this- The spiral. This one is yours,” Jon handed Michael the blue box he had been fumbling with, it’s embellished spiral design reflecting the light from the fire as it changed hands. Stepping up and away from the tree, Jon took his own gift under his arm and set it down closer to the fire. To no surprise, Michael followed, sitting down beside him with the thinner, blue box of his. It looked door-shaped, though Jon supposed that any rectangle would look like a door if you spent enough time with Michael.

“You should open yours first, since this was your idea,” Michael insisted, getting himself comfortable by the fire. He sat close to Jon but left enough room between them for personal space. 

“Alright, if you insist,” Jon was cautious with unwrapping it, wary of making the wrong move. But the gift opened like a gift should open, no tricks at all. Inside was a box of cassette tapes packaged neatly next to a new tape recorder. None of it looked aged or dated as Jon was used to seeing the tapes at the archives, and he was suddenly made aware of how much he had needed these. “Oh, wow. This is amazing.”

“It really is,” Michael looked over Jon’s shoulder at the box. “Especially for you.”

Jon eyed Michael’s present. “Your turn.”

“Oh, right, yes, I’ll get on with it.” Michael was decisively less concerned about grace when he unwrapped the present, and when he popped open the lid he seemed to stop for a moment before his face melted into a smile. A genuine one, too. Not the lopsided or too-wide or sharp smile he often adorned. Jon was expecting something groundbreaking when Michael plucked it out of the box—something that could appease the spiraling amusement of the Distortion—but it wasn’t anything particularly amazing. It was just a winter scarf, dark green in color, and hardly Michael’s usual style. And yet he was enamored by it, holding the thing close to his chest. “Now I regret never having opened this before.”

“You really like scarves that much?”

“No, Jon.” Michael rolled his eyes. “This scarf is my scarf-” He paused, and Jon could see something painful flash through his face before it faded just as fast. “This scarf was Michael’s scarf. It got lost somewhere in the hallways a long time ago.” 

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“I was getting to that,” Michael smirked at him lightheartedly. With a swift movement, the old scarf was around his neck. He gestured toward it, “What do you think?”

“It... looks.”

“Looks…? Looks Good? Lovely? Wonderful?”

“It looks.” Jon moved out of the way as Michael made a swing at him with the empty box. “It looks great, Michael.”

“Thank you.” Setting the box down, Michael pushed it aside with his foot. “...So, we had hot chocolate, we opened presents… what else is there?”

“Christmas crackers?” Jon shrugged.

“Every store is closed and I don’t think this liminal house has a particular nationality.”

“Right.” Was there much else to do? Christmas was mostly just the presents, anyways. “Well… we could always just relax. That was the point of all this, right? To relax and just spend some time with someone else for Christmas”

“We can relax until these walls cave into themselves. Then we’ll go our separate ways, again. I’ll go back to,” Michael waved his hands around in a vague gesture, “and you’ll be back to your archives, trying to unravel every statement you come across.” Sadness was so apparent in his tone that Jon could hardly believe this was the same person—entity—that laughed a headache into his head and watched the chaos unravel before it, not so keen to intervene unless it seemed interesting or operatic.

Jon bridged the gap between them cautiously, setting his hand onto Michael’s. It felt normal. No sharp edges, no cold leathery sensation. “Michael. If you ever want to meet again like this, we could.”

“Oh, Jon. It isn’t often that I’m so sickly human like this. You don’t want me around more, I assure you. You of all people should know how I am.”

“You’re more than I thought you were-”

The rumbling of the floors cut Jon off, making him stand up immediately. 

“What the hell is happening?”

Michael brought Jon’s new tapes with him as he stood from the floor. He frowned. “It’s crumbling. We’ve been here longer than we thought.” Shoving the gift into Jon’s hand, Michael took a deep breath and seemed to burst back into the fractals and endless patterns he was in the hallways. A door opened up in front of Jon, and he was practically pushed in as Michael followed him. Inside the halls, Michael and Jon stood by the doorway. Collapsing, creaking wood resonated from beyond it. “Sorry for the abrupt end to the party.” 

When Jon blinked again Michael was more human, though not entirely so. His existence still seemed to be in question when he was in his own hallways. Jon looked up at the mistletoe that still hung in the doorway. Michael’s eyes followed Jon’s to the decoration and he grinned. 

“Care to contribute to holiday traditions before you go back to your friends?”

Jon took a deep breath. “Sure. What the hell.” And before he could make a move, before he could move his clunky box of cassettes out of the way, Michael pecked him on his lips. The soft and gentle feeling was so fleeting Jon didn’t realize it happened until it was over. 

“Goodbye, Jon. Thank you for a lovely Christmas. Do tell your friends I’m sorry for taking you away from them.” 

He gestured to the door next to them, which was no longer the same one that led to the Place That Did Not Exist Except On Christmas, but the bright yellow one he had opened at the party. With a nod, Jon turned the doorknob. “Bye, Michael. I’ll see you around.”


End file.
